


Saving Throw

by Darius (DLoss)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: At this point, Couldn't get this out of my head so you get to share, Fire, I'm Sorry, Imprisonment, Minor Character Death, Murder, Who knows with CR, mentions of toture, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 16:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20230603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DLoss/pseuds/Darius
Summary: Caleb finally gets to talk to the scourger in the prisons beneath Rosohna. Things go about as well as one can expect.





	Saving Throw

Caleb was getting used to the dark. Rosohna was forever in a state of dimness above ground, and they barely bothered with lights whenever they ventured below. He guessed most of the inhabitants having dark vision probably helped. But following Essek into the prison, once again, meant he stepped out of the barely lit streets and into the hardly lit halls of the jail. Kept dark to confuse and disorient its prisoners, he assumed.

It was having a similar effect on him.

Though, that may have been the magic of the place. Twisting the space around him to make it impossible to be sure which way was out, photographic memory be damned. And, because he was walking a few paces behind Essek, time was warping as well. It was an odd sensation, even though he knew the time, the passage of it seemed to track in pulsing waves while the walked. Making it difficult to tell how long each small leg of their journey took. 

The magic skewed time, but didn’t _displace_ it. So, overall, he could sense the relatively quick walk down through the bowels of the miserable prison, towards where they were keeping the Scourger.

They walked in silence, this was hardly the place for idle conversation, though Caleb was suddenly yearning for it. Wishing Nott or Beau were here to say something snarky to try and amuse him. And he couldn’t manage the questions his curiosity was burning to ask of his guide.

Essek had made a passing comment about him coming alone, his cat notwithstanding, and Caleb had brushed it off with a poor excuse he doubted the Shadowhand believed.

In reality he was being selfish. He needed this. Needed to ask her some questions. Wanted to know things. Things he didn’t want to share with the others right now. He knew that none of them spoke Zemnian, but… They would _know_ just by looking at him. Beau would know. Nott would know. Jester would probably suspect. Caduceus... well that was sort of a mystery and Fjord had other things going on right now.

But the women in his life were perceptive. And Caleb wanted to get this done without having to worry about them in the moment. Needed to keep focused. He could deal with them later.

Doubt seized through his chest for a moment, a freezing cold hand clenching down on his heart.

What the fuck was he doing? Gods, this was _beyond_ stupid. He suspected he was already outed. He believed that Rexxentrum already knew where he was and what he’d done. But this was…

He paused mid-step in the hallway.

What was he hoping for here? He didn’t even know. Couldn’t even fathom what outcome would be useful or… beneficial for anyone. Talking to a dead woman walking, asking her about people in his past, was so selfish. He had no idea how this would affect the group. He was so used to playing a game of numbers and none of this math made sense.

Essek didn’t speak Zemnian, but spells could allow him to understand. Was he ready to share this much with Xhorhas? Was he willing to take such a risk? Expose himself and the others even more than they already were?

Essek had paused in front of him, turning a little in his odd hover-walk to study him. Caleb could barely make out his handsome face. No doubt Essek could read him like a book.

“Sorry.” Caleb said quietly, moving to catch up quickly. Essek nodded slightly and turned to continue on. Perhaps having sensed Caleb wasn’t in a chatting mood today.

They rounded into a corridor that was familiar. Two Drow guards flanking a door alone in the length of hall. The same door he’d leaned through, half-hoping and mostly terrified that Astrid would look back up at him. Essek said something to the guards as Caleb stopped walking a few paces from them.

He wanted to ask how long he had. If he could use his lights. If they cared what he asked. If Frumpkin could stay beside his feet where the cat was currently leaning against his ankle. Grounding him.

But his throat was sticking. Not so much from nervousness. Anticipation, maybe. He didn’t like not knowing what to do. And here he was, on the edge of doing it, and he was just as clueless as he had been hours ago, when Essek had told him to be ready.

_Focus, Caleb._ He told himself, trying to take a deep breath like Beau did when she was trying not to punch him in the face.

Essek turned from the guard and the Drow behind him moved to unlock the door.

“We are not restricted on time,” Essek said, his calm, almost melodic voice quiet in the hallway, “but this would be better quick than slow.”

“I understand.” Caleb nodded, almost wishing they’d just impose a time limit. A natural end to this in case he got lost in the conversation.

“I told them not to light the torches.” The Shadowhand added, almost an amused note to his voice. “You can create light if you need it, yes?”

Caleb blinked at him, caught off guard by the comment. Then he recalled showing Essek the dancing lights all those weeks ago and nodded. The globes of light floated up from his hand as he raised it, the guard stepping through the door, followed by one of the blobs.

Essek extended a hand slightly, motioning Caleb to proceed, and Caleb took a breath and steeled himself. He stepped into the cell. Shadows threw themselves against the walls and floor as light danced inside. Contrast going from barely dim to sharp and detailed.

The smell of the cell was nothing surprising. The prisoner was still shackled to the chair, looking up slightly as the guards and entourage stepped inside. There was more blood on her face. Staining her rags. Three of her toenails were missing and there was a careful hold to her jaw that made Caleb suspect she’d lost a few teeth. It didn’t bother him like he suspected it should have. Though, why would it? This woman was already dead.

The dead woman smiled through her filthy, matted hair that half hung over her face as Caleb moved to stand in front of her.

“The prodigal son returns.” She drawled in Zemnian, her voice hoarse and strained. Like she was in pain, like something had damaged her throat. Caleb didn’t bother trying to decipher her words. Tried not to file it away for later, knowing full well he’d be going over this conversation hundreds of times regardless of its outcome.

“They are going to kill you.” He said, Zemnian feeling comfortable in his mouth after so long.

“Are you going to stop them?” She replied, almost laughing to herself.

“No.” Caleb shook his head slightly.

“Then why are you here, Bren?”

Caleb didn’t let himself flinch at the name. At the name he’s cast aside, tried to forget, ignored and avoided for so long.

“Because I need to know.” He said.

“They couldn’t get me to talk.” She replied, a sideways glance at the guard over her shoulder. “What makes you think you can? Going to burn me, Bren?”

Questions screamed in the back of his mind. How much did she know? Understand? _How_ did she know? Was he used as some kind of cautionary tale back at the Cerberus Assembly? But _she_ didn’t matter anymore. She was already dead.

“I don’t care about your Empire secrets.” Caleb assured her. “Most of them are lies and stories, told to you to keep you in line. To make you willing to do what you do.” He shook his head, moving forwards slightly. “No. I want to know about,” his breath caught slightly, hesitating before pressing through, “the people. From my past.”

That elicited a chuckle, dry and rasping, alien in the cold, quiet of the cell. The Scourger met his eyes through her dirty hair.

“Hard to keep a track of them, once you’ve lost your mind, I suspect.” She smiled slightly, a wonky, manic expression marred by the blood on her face. Across her teeth. Calebs heart had been racing already, but now a vice pressed against his ribs, constricting the air in his lungs. He felt the panic rising as his breathing picked up. He tried to control it.

What she knew didn’t matter.

It _didn’t matter_.

“Seem to be doing better as a traitor, though. Now that you’re out to kill more of your countrymen.” She added softly. “Is that why you’re here? To be my executioner?” She smiled slightly.

Caleb shook his head. As much to disagree as to get a grip on himself. Find his voice. He closed his eyes for a second, blew out a long breath through pursed lips. When he spoke it came out hard. Demanding.

“Astrid.” Caleb pressed. “Is she alive?”

Another dry, stifled chuckle.

“I’ve been chained to a chair for days.” She pointed out. “At this point, who knows?”

“When you last saw her, then.” Calebs’ voice was quiet, but he could hear his own anger and frustration. He could feel it rising through his guts. “Where was she? Is she… Is she like you?”

“Fucked?” The Scourger suggested, then laughing at her own macabre joke. “In the middle of war, we’re all a little fucked.”

“Ikethon trained you.” Caleb said, not waiting for a response before pushing on. “Like he trained us. So you know her. Like I did. Maybe better. What do you have to _lose_ right now?”

The woman lifted her head further, squaring her face at him, her manic, bloody smile spreading from idle amusement to genuine delight. It creased her filthy face behind her hair that parted to clear her eyes. They were dark, intelligent, brightly reflecting the magic lights around them.

They were almost entirely empty of the smile on her face.

The contrast of the look almost jolted Caleb backwards. The warped expression, her cold, dark eyes. He was suddenly sixteen years old again. Looking at Trent and trying to decipher a cryptic puzzle, knowing if he failed he would be punished.

“_I _have nothing to lose.” She replied evenly, her voice pulling him back to the moment, suddenly cold in the stuffy room. “You, though, seem to have a lot these days.”

Caleb blinked at her, taken aback by the sudden concern in his chest, the old, childlike fear burning brighter and colder as it centered on the present. On the real risks he’d taken coming here.

“You have new friends, I saw a couple. No doubt our people here have as well.” She went on. “I expect that they are easier to find that you have proven to be.”

_Gods_ it was like an arrow to the heart to hear his own fears thrown at him like that. The breath vanished from his lungs, the overwhelming feeling of suffocation slamming into him. Anger burning low and red through his veins with each second of fear. Fear he’d been feeling for too long. For so many years he’d let it eat him alive.

Not now.

“I’m sure the Empire would be interested in hearing what you have to say.” She added. “About the dynasty. About your crimes. Or, failing that, what your friends have to say about it.”

He needed to leave.

“Or maybe the Dynasty would be interested in hearing about _your_ connections.” She almost spat the words at him. “About what you’ve done for the _Empire_.”

At a million miles an hour Caleb processed that information. The threat. Essek and the Bright Queen knew or suspected his old ties to the Empire, but didn’t know the full story. And Caleb could not let them know it. Such deep ties would not be believed to just go away. He would be questioned.

Worse, so would the others. Any loyalty or favour they’d managed to gather here would be at risk.

This woman needed to die. Caleb had no idea, though, how to get them to speed up their current timetable. Part of him wanted to speed the process along himself, but surely-

“I hope, though,” she snarled at him, icy venom in her words, “that it’s Trent that finds you first. He could thrall you right back into your old ways.” Caleb did flinch at that, shock and disbelief flowing logic right out of his system. “Be one of us again. Believe in the Empire again.” Caleb took a full step backwards, fear and anger coursing through him. Desperate for air, now, heart pounding in the back of his throat, staring at the woman on the chair like she was attacking him with a blade, not with words. Knowing full well that she was right. That she was telling the truth. Realising how stupidly exposed he was. His friends were.

How incredibly fucked he was if Ikethon ever found him.

His panic treated her like a threat out of instinct, his hand halfway up in front of him, dropping slightly into a defensive stance. The guards flinched but stood their ground, Caleb could barely see them, vision hyper-focusing on the woman chained to the chair.

“Stop.” He warned evenly, barely keeping his devastation from his voice.

Her smiled went genuinely nasty, curling up her face, clearly enjoying his response. Clearly seeing the expose nerve. Caleb was too busy trying to find air to move or speak.

“He’d probably make you find the rest of your pitiful village and burn it to the ground.”

_No_.

“_Verbrennen_.” Caleb snarled, barely audible in the dingy cell. He focused his fear and fury into his arm, his will and magic flowed through it as he cast the spell.

She was restrained, unable to move away from where he centered the energy pouring off him, and her smile faltered as he spoke. Then it vanished as light flared under her skin, the heat bursting through her chest as flames danced through the bright cracks of her frame.

She started to scream, swearing in their native language in her agony and panic, thrashing on the chair as she started to burn in earnest. Immolation lighting her up from the inside out. The cell lit up with the flames, the Drow almost shying away from the bright flames dancing on the burning body.

Caleb couldn’t move, his mind focused on keeping the flames alight, his panic throwing up the worst possibilities if Ikethon ever managed to find him again. Find the group. His fear powering the spell. It took maybe twenty seconds before the screaming stopped. Before the light started to dim as the flames started to die.

The scouger’s body was black, crumbling already into ash in the chair. The chains glowed red with the heat from the spell, the cell full of the stench of burning flesh and hair. Caleb could hear the panicked cries of his parents in the back of his head. The cries of his friends joined them. Pleading and begging and in pain. He knew it wasn’t real.

_It wasn’t real_.

He would never-

A hand landed on his shoulder, the firm grip shaking him from his thoughts. Caleb realised how hard he was breathing, how tight his chest still felt. He blinked and ignored the tear that rolled down his face. Essek was busy looking at the crumbling body of the scourger. He didn’t look angry.

He didn’t even look surprised.

“Well, then.” Essek nodded slightly. “Shall we?” He gave the barest of head tilts towards the door, indicating it was time to go.

Caleb wanted to ask questions, but kept his mouth firmly shut. Confusion giving way to annoyance. Understanding.

He knew when he was being used, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was thrown together in a fever pitch and it reflects my rapid fire brain nonsense right now. So. Sorry. 
> 
> Also, Caleb knows Immolation and you can fucking fight me on that.
> 
> Verbrennen is Incinerate in German (the basis for Zemnian) so. Have fun with that knowledge. 
> 
> Additionally: Was no-one going to tell me about Bren/Brennen/Burn in German being a thing? I had to find that out when googling shit myself? Ridiculous.


End file.
